


To Worship

by songlin



Category: Dorian Gray - All Media Types, Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Fingerfucking, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Smut, what the fuck did i just do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 18:24:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songlin/pseuds/songlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Let me taste of you, Basil,” he whispered in my ear, and all I could think of was what an exquisitely beautiful boy he was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Worship

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cobblestoner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobblestoner/gifts).



> I am going to hell.
> 
> Gift for the lovely pedertastic. In return for this filthy, filthy smut, she is contributing to my fund for the Smithsonian National Zoo's red pandas, which you can read more about [here.](http://greencarnations.tumblr.com/tagged/red+panda+quest)

_“You only taught me to be vain.”_

_“Well, I am punished for that, Dorian, or shall be some day.”_

\---

“Let me taste of you, Basil,” he whispered in my ear, and all I could think of was what an exquisitely beautiful boy he was. “Oh, my dear Basil.”

I should not have let him.

Of course, I speak as if I had a choice. I speak as if I doubted myself, when in truth I nearly tripped over my tongue in acquiescence.

“Yes, _please.”_

And I let him.

I let him undress me and push me onto his bed. I let him cover my body with his as he kissed me, kissed me so slowly and sweetly I could not have put him off if I had wanted to. I let him undress me, let him trail bites down my neck and scatter blossoming crescent moons in his wake.

Dorian sat back and brought his hands to the buttons at his throat. He fumbled at it for a moment, tossed his head and frowned with irritation. In that little movement I saw the boy, the one I had painted so long ago, and it brought a smile to my face. I reached up and stroked my thumb across his cheek.

His eyes came up to meet mine, and suddenly the boy was gone. In his place was this magnificent, alien creature who wore his face and eyes and body.

I could have seen it then, had I known for what to look. But I always thought of sin as a thing that writes itself across a man’s face, that cannot be concealed.

And he was _so_ beautiful.

He watched me coquettishly from behind a wisp of his hair. “I might have expected shyness of you,” he said, and shed his shirt.

He pressed me back into the pillows and bent to press kisses against my chest, my stomach, my thighs. I shivered with delight and tangled my fingers in his hair. He pressed his palms to the insides of my knees and gently pushed them open.

“I said I wanted to taste you,” he murmured, and bent his head.

I gasped as his hot, wet mouth closed around me. The pleasure was exquisite, almost painfully so, and I could not stop myself from bucking up. Dorian planted one firm hand on my hip. He drew his mouth slowly up and off with a soft _pop_.

“None of that, now,” he instructed, and bent again to his task.

It felt like his kisses, slow and sweet and altogether perfect. I made my bliss known in soft sighs and whispers, in my hands searching wildly for something to grasp, as if I could brace myself against the onslaught of delicious sensation.

He drew back to push my legs further apart. I leaned my body upwards, chasing his mouth, but he was already pressing me open, thumbs baring my innermost parts to his scrutiny, and before I could register any objection he darted forward and lapped at my seam.

I nearly choked on his name. My hands flew to his shoulders and I had to fight to keep my feet firmly planted on the bed. His tongue drew slowly over me back and forth, again and again. My toes curled. I said something, most likely his name again, and I felt the tip of his tongue working back and forth in small circles, worrying at my entrance, and slowly--just--penetrating.

_“Dorian!”_

He pressed me open wider and did it again. I took myself in hand, thrilling when Dorian did not stop me, and stroked myself slowly. Even that was nearly too much. He pierced me with his tongue and it felt like impalement. It was transcendent, but I confess I was an avaricious lover. There were more delights to be sampled, and I was ravenous for them.

“Dorian, p- _please,”_ I blurted. “I--I need-- _more,_ will you-- _please.”_

My face flushed hot at the catches in my breath, but Dorian was unperturbed. He drew back again--I groaned with disappointment--and smiled.

“Dear, dear Basil,” he said. “Of course.”

His fingers, when they pressed into where his tongue had been, were cold and slick but insistent. I shivered under his hands, and he laughed.

“Have patience,” he said.

I could not be patient, not any longer. Not with this exotic creature before me, inside of me. I wanted more of it. More of _him_.

“Oh _please,_ Dorian.”

If there was cruelty in his smile, I did not see it. “Poor, pitiful thing. Nearly lost to pleasure, aren’t you?”

I bit my lip and squirmed down onto his probing fingers.

“Well, in that case, we simply must get you sorted.”

I could wait no longer.

As soon as his fingers left my body, I pushed him back onto the mattress and crawled up his body myself. Laughter bubbled up in his chest, but I kissed it out of his mouth. I felt behind me to guide myself down onto his manhood, standing tall and proud between his legs.

It split me open like a spear, parting my soft tissues as I sank gradually down. My jaw dropped and my spine curved back, drawn bowstring-tight. The sudden shift in angle pressed something inside of me that burst like fireworks behind my eyes. I gasped.

“Yes,” Dorian hissed, pushing up into my body. “Like that.”

Spread underneath me, he was radiant, flushed to the cheekbones, hair fanned out against the pillows, eyes dark and heavy, yards of pale skin exposed for touching and tasting and teasing. His hands settled on my thighs.

“Well, then, Basil,” he said, “why don’t we get to work?”

The sudden thrust up was a shock that pitched me forward with a cry. The next forced me to bury my face in his neck to muffle my voice.

I did not bother with that for long.

He held my waist while I rode him and watched his face spasm with delight. I rained kisses on his collarbones when I thought I could not bear to watch a moment longer without bursting. The ache in my muscles built and sweat beaded on my forehead and back, but that could not stop me. When Dorian took hold of me, I let out a shout so desperate that he stopped for a moment.

“No,” I cried, “do not _dare_ stop now, please, Dorian.”

He caught his lip in his teeth and didn’t stop.

Less than a minute later, his hand stalled suddenly and he arched against the pillows, mouth falling open in a silent shout. It was beautiful. He was beautiful, and he had let me--he had--

I came blessedly to my peak only moments later, shouting to the heavens and to the god before me.

\---

_“I worshipped you too much. I am punished for it. You worshipped yourself too much. We are both punished.”_


End file.
